Welcome Aboard, Poppet
by SRSK
Summary: You have been captured by enemy pirates, your crew killed off, and now are stuck on a ship led by the infamous Captain Arthur Kirkland. Pirate!England/BritainXReader My first XReader story.
1. Meet the Captain

**I wasn't planning on posting this but... what the heck.  
Enjoy! Oh, and please forgive the Cockney accent if it's not totally accurate. It still needs to be readable.  
Thanks! Reviews are greatly appreciated!**

It hurt, the chains on your wrists and ankles. Another chain was wrapped 'round your neck. You were bruised and sore. Dried blood was caked in your hair and on your clothes, the sticky red substance gluing the fabric to your skin. It was dark inside the cabin, the dim light of the candles flickering only the faintest gleam of light onto the room. Scrolls upon scrolls, clogged with notes written on maps, stained from blood and rum and alcohol of all kinds. Gold medallions scraped into the corners, in piles on the table, rifles and swords in stacks against the walls and a dagger lodged deep into the table's cedar planks. The chandelier in the ceiling swung methodically as the ship was carried softly along the waves; the wood creaked with every undulation.

You laid there on the floor, feeling the ship warp to the movement of the waves beneath you. The sound of leather boots hitting the wooden floor and the sound of jingling metal attracted your attention, and it wasn't long before the door to the chamber opened.

In a dramatic and sweeping motion, a man with scraggly blonde hair and bright green eyes stepped into the room. His appearance was quite spectacular: a long white pleated cravat, smudged in some areas with dirt and grime, fell loosely upon his unbuttoned cream colored shirt, the brass buttons shining in the candlelight. Around his waist was a thick, wrapped, black band of cloth that tucked in his shirt and served as a belt. His navy pants were slim and over them, reaching to his knees, were black leather boots lined with gold and similar-colored laces. A brown belt was slung over his waist haphazardly next to a revolver tucked into the black strap.

Over all of this was a deep red coat that reached just below his knees, hung over his shoulders loosely. The revers, cuffs, and high collar of the coat were navy blue, lined with gold, matching the epaulettes. On his hands were brown leather gauntlets that covered the long-sleeved shirt. His left eye was covered by a black eyepatch and to top it all off was a large hat tricorne hat with billowing plumage coming off the back and side.

The door shut behind him, swinging shut on its own from the rocking of the ship. He stared at you for a time, then crossed the room slowly, the deep sound of his boots meeting the floor echoing in the quiet room. Once he reached your side, he kneeled down, his coat swelling behind him, and he smiled, boredom still present in his one eye, "Good day milady. Seems your ship was in my way and I just couldn't be letting you slow me down. That was a good pile of loot in that vessel. Do you know where the captain is?"

"You'd be talkin' to 'er," You spat, annoyed at his cocky attitude, "Wha' you want?"

"Oh, interesting. Might I ask milady how you came to be the owner of that ship?"

"Righ' soon as you pull the trigger up your nose."

He grabbed the chain around your neck and lifted you closer to his face. His eye stared beyond your own, and he glowered, "You're a right smart one. Cocky attitude."

"Takes one to know one."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, poppet. 'Tis all good fun."

"You killed my crew."

"You damaged my ship."

"You SUNK my ship."

"You told me to die. That was rather rude, don't you think, poppet?"

"No' really. I mean you ARE a bi' of a wanker."

His mouth twitched, "Watch yourself, poppet. I wouldn't be insulting the person who has control over you." He tugged on the chains knowingly.

You spat at his feet, and he recoiled, striking your face viciously, "Are you blunt? Don't you get it yet you stupid girl!"

"No, explain i' to me one more time," You goaded, waiting for his comeback. He grabbed a fistful of your cream shirt, "I OWN you now. Hear me!"

You scowled, but before you could respond, the door burst open, and a tall blonde-haired young man with blue eyes crashed inside, "Arthur! We've got company!"

Arthur let go of your shirt and stood up, "Company?"

"Spanish ships!"

"Is it Antonio?" Arthur snarled, but the other pirate shook his head, "We don't know yet. The flag's down."

"...Why would the flag be down? ...It doesn't matter. It could be Antonio or the Spanish Armada then, eh? Alright then, let's give them a proper show. It doesn't matter who they are, we'll blow them to smithereens!" He turned to you, "I'll deal with you later," and with that he ran out the door, his boots tapping the wood as you could hear him climb the stairs to the main deck. The other man nodded, "Hey there. I'm––"

"Alfred! Get up here!"

"...Gotta go," He shut the door behind him, leaving you alone in what you assumed to be the captain's quarters again. You could hear his muffled shouts beyond and the tap of his shoes up the stairs, "I'm coming Arthur, jeez!"

"...Bloo'y pirates..." You muttered, knowing you were being hypocritical, since you were one too. Well, to be technical, you were a privateer, given explicit permission to sink Spanish and French ships in the Caribbean by Her Majesty the Queen herself. It was different. That "loot" that the Arthur chap had taken from your now sunken ship was not necessarily yours, it was the Queen's too, and now that you had lost it, you were never going to get paid. Months of work gone down the drain in a single night.

It was surprisingly quiet outside. Since they were British pirates, if the ships outside were Spanish, there would definitely be cannon fire. But the ship continued sailing at the same speed, or so you thought. Suddenly, the ship rocked, sliding you across the floor in your bonds. The pounding sound of canon fire followed the shouts of men above deck.

The canons sounded fainter than usual, and it wasn't long before you heard the splintering of wood. The Spanish had fired first. In the racket, you hadn't noticed the sound of footsteps, and once again, the man called Alfred barged into the room, "Hey, you!"

"...Yes?" You asked, but he wasn't really addressing you. He grabbed your ankles and pulled out a key, unlocking the chains and freeing your legs. He did the same with your hands and neck, and dragged you to your feet, "Grab as many rifles as you can carry!" He pointed to the gun pile you had noticed earlier, and grabbed several himself.

Unable to really do anything else but follow orders, you grabbed a handful of about four rifles into your arms and turned around to follow. In front of your eyes was a dagger, "Anything funny and you're done. Got it?"

"Y-Yea... I go' it." You stuttered, your heart racing from the close-encounter, "Bu' watch where you're poin'in' that fing."

You followed him upstairs into the fray. The ship was right alongside the Spaniards', a much larger vessel than you expected. It's canons were positioned just a few feet beneath the upper deck, but they were no longer firing, despite that a few good rounds more and Arthur's ship would be merely flotsam. Long planks were being dropped over the sides of the Spanish ship, and the navy men clambered onto the boards as they hit the deck of their enemies.

As they climbed down, four of the pirates on the ship grabbed a rifle from your arms, leaving you weaponless. Your rifles and swords had been confiscated, as well as the dagger, even the one you kept hidden in your boot––they had found that one. Now you were defenseless, and amidst the panic and fighting, it wasn't something you wanted to be.

Below deck was the safest place, and you ran for the stairs, throwing open the door and stumbling down the steps into the dark heart of the ship. It was the wrong door, however, that you had run through; it was the ship's hold, cramped and dark filled with the stench of rum and seamen. Hammocks hung from post to post, mouldy and stained, draped with the men's clothing from days past. Bottles were scattered over the floor, rolling back and forth from wall to wall with the rocking of the ship. The lanterns swayed as well, dimly illuminating the room. The hammocks continued on until they reached another stairs, and you could only assume that one more deck lower you would find the canons and supplies.

Not interested to see the lower hold, you turned around and ran back up the stairs, but as soon as you reached the threshold of the door, another man opened the door and bumped into you, knocking you backwards down the stairs. You slammed against the floor, the wind knocked out of you, and you found yourself holding your head and curling into a ball while gasping for air; your head pounded and you were disoriented, the room spinning.

"Ah! I'm sorry! I didn't know someone would be down here! Are you all right?" The man you had run into was kneeling over your head, his glasses slipping down his nose, half of his purple eyes larger than the other from the distortion of the lenses, "Ma'am?"

"I-I'm alrigh'," You wheezed, "Jus' winded."

"O-Okay. Um, well, again, I'm sorry. Uh, well I, uh, was sent down to get something, so I'll go do that now," He said quietly, and he got up and went back into the darkness and down the next flight of stairs.

You sat there for a bit, catching your breath, or at least attempting to. After a few minutes, the sound died a bit outside, and once you felt okay again, you got to your feet and climbed the stairs; however, you checked to make sure it was okay to go back outside before you just walked out there. Rifles were no longer being fired, the clang of swords was done, the shouts of men had died down.

Once you opened the door, Arthur immediately found you and grabbed you by the arm, "What are you doing! Why––never mind. Get over there and attend to Alfred. Now!" He threw you in the direction of the young man, and as you walked over the the kneeling pirate, you had no more to fear. The faction of Spaniards had been defeated, only a small group of about seven of them remained, tied up and kneeling on the deck.

The captain of the Spaniards spoke to Arthur, but in his native tongue. In response, the Brit slapped him, and looked around the deck, walking in a small circle with his arms outstretched in frustration, "Can anyone translate? Is there anyone who can speak Spanish?"

No one responded, and so he looked at the Spaniards, "Is there anyone here that can speak English? No?" He looked to one of his subordinates, "Board the ship, take anything of value. Find out how much powder and canon balls they have. Whatever stores they have left, take them. After that, take the rest of this faction up onto the ship. We're done here."

While the rest of the pirates got to work, you knelt down next to Alfred, "'Ey, you alrigh'?"You asked, and that was when you noticed him clutching his side, painted red along with the floor. Immediately, you forced him onto his back and pried his hand from his side; he wouldn't let go, groaning and whimpering in pain. Arthur joined you by your side and looked down at your struggle, "So what's the damage?"

"I don' know, 'E won' le' me see. A-Alfred, you 'ave to le' me see your wound..."

He groaned, his hand still clutching his side, and shook his head.

"Little git, you know it's still going to hurt if you don't let her look at it for you," Arthur scolded, nudging the man with his boot. Alfred shook his head again, so he sighed and motioned to the side of the ship, "Alright then, toss him overboard. I have no need for wounded men who are too childish to be fixed."

Alfred jolted, but cried out as he did so, "No! No––agh––wait! Okay, okay, I'll let you look at it," he removed his red hand for you to get a good look. His cream shirt was stained by his side, and you pulled it up to reveal the wound.

"Can you see the bullet?" He asked, and you shook your head, "'Old on, le' me ge' a good look."

"Hurry up..."

"I'm tryin'."

"It hurts. Try faster!"

You rolled your eyes and looked closely at the wound, "Oh don' panic so much. It's shallow, I can see it. I'll pull i' ou' righ' now."

"Wait, wait, wait! No! Ow!" He grimaced and groaned as you pulled the metal ball out and tucked it in your pocket. "Alrigh', so now what to do abou' the wrappin' up o' finks..."

"Here, I brought these."

You glanced behind you to see the man that had knocked you down the stairs before carrying an armful of used bandages. He smiled shyly as you exclaimed, "You!"

"Yeah... sorry again for knocking you down the stairs earlier. Captain Arthur told me to go get these as soon as Alfred got shot. I'm Matthew by the way."

"(Y/N)," you replied, nodding and taking one of the bandages. It was stained with blood and grime, and you held it delicately in your hand, curling your nose, "An' you couldn' find anyfink be-uh?"

"Sorry, that's all we have," Matthew grimaced.

"This is a ship, not a clinic," Arthur said curtly.

"I was jus' wonderin' is all. A' leas' on my ship we had clean bandages." You helped Alfred sit up and commanded him to unbutton his shirt. As he did so, you picked out the cleanest strips of cloth you could find and set those aside. After he had taken off his shirt, you began wrapping him up in the bandages.

"Matthew, go join the rest of the crew. They're searching for supplies on the Spanish ship," Arthur ordered, shooing him off. Then he addressed you and Alfred, "Once you're done dressing him, I want you to bring him into my quarters. I want to talk to you."

"...Yeah... I got it Dad..." Alfred replied, and Arthur marched off, giving off new orders to the crew.

Your mouth was gaping open, "Dad? Dad! 'E's your dad?" You looked at Alfred for reassurance. You had noticed the parental tone in Arthur's voice in that sentence, and although you had treated your crew like family––a big, noisy, robust, and a rough-around-the-edges kind of family, but a family nonetheless––this was clearly not just a bond shared by the crew.

"Yeah. Me and Matthew are brothers, and Arthur adopted us as his sons after he found us."

"Found you?"

"Yeah––ow, not so tight––I don't remember everything that happened, but I remember running away with Matthew and ending up in a Dutch colony. We stayed there as renegades, but then when Arthur showed up with his crew, we would often sneak up on the ship to see what a pirate ship was like. One day we got caught––ow! I thought I said not to tie it that tight!––and Arthur got really mad. But when we explained our situation, he let us stay on the ship, and after that he told us that he was basically adopting us as his sons. So we've been here for..." He counted on his fingers, "Five years I think."

"'Ow ol' are you?"

"...I don't remember."

"'Ow ol' were you a' the time?"

"...I don't remember."

"No' a' all?"

"No, no, I don't remember. You don't pay attention to those things here."

"O' course. Seems the cap'n has a sof' spo'." You finished off the bindings and tied it tight behind his back, despite his whining, "Ge' dressed. I 'ave to take you into the cap'n's quar'ers."

He did so, pulling on his loose shirt and buttoning it again. You helped him to his feet and held your arm around his shoulder, walking him to the door. You helped him down the stairs and into the hallway, and once inside the quarters, you set him down on one of the chairs by the table.

"Why'd you free me? I'm the enemy, aren' I?"

"We have a common enemy don't we? The Spanish? I figured we could use some help. We lost only a few men, while they lost plenty. I think it was a good decision on my part."

"May I ask, why did you spare me? Why kill my crew and then spare ME? Wha' good am I?"

"Well, to be honest, I don't know. Crew seemed rather excited to have you here though."

You sighed, "I see... I go'cha. Well, you res' 'ere and I'mma 'ead up to the deck."

"I don't think that's a good idea. I wasn't supposed to even release you. You can't just go wandering around the place."

You ignored him and exited the room, hearing his cries behind you, "Hey, wait! Come back here! I'm serious, we're both gonna get in trouble––OW!"

Without turning around, you shouted to him, "Don' go 'urtin' yourself. You still 'ave a gian' wound in ya." And with that, you walked up the stairs and into the sunlight. The crew was finishing up raiding the Spanish ship, and the captives were being taken back onto their own vessel. Some of the members of Arthur's crew were talking amongst themselves, and you overheard them, "...didn't have any ammunition left on board. Must've been why they didn't blow us to bits..."

"Well tha' explains i'," you muttered to yourself, looking around the deck. The galleon was of conventional design, however it's captain's quarters were pulled forward in the design. It seemed to be kept in good condition, the only things that had some major damage was the bowsprit and the hull. You looked up at the masts, and they were in good condition as well, with the sails nearly flawless. Above them all hung a greyscale version of the British flag. You scrunched your nose and turned away, a bit annoyed at the disgrace to the colors. As you looked away, head still arched up, your gaze caught his, standing on the quarter deck at the wheel.

His eyes narrowed and he waved for you to join him. You sighed and quickly glanced around the ship again, catching sight of the cockboat. Smiling a bit at your find, you climbed the stairs to the quarter deck, meeting him by the wheel.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothin'." You replied curtly, setting your right hand on the rail.

"You don't have much of an attitude as before. Lost your spirit that quickly?"

"Lon' as you don' lock me up no more, I'll keep some o' my temper. An' you?"

"You're still supposed to be in chains. Temper kept or not, that's not going to change," he said flatly, and before you knew it, he had a cuff around your right wrist and a cuff around the rail.

"Why you––BLOO'Y WANKER!" You screamed, jerking your wrist in hopes of getting it off.

"That was incredibly naïve of you to think that I was going to let you roam about on my ship."

Another crew member ran up the stairs and informed Arthur, "Cap'n, all's good down there. Supplies all accounted for, captives aboard the vessel. We're good to go."

"Excellent," He shouted down to his men, "Alright then boys! Release the ship and ready the sails!"

The men released the ropes and the boards from the other ship and unfurled the sails while Arthur turned the ship starboard. The vessel broke away from the enemies' smoothly, although slowly, as was expected with a galleon. The wind was favoring Arthur, and once the ship was about fifty meters away from the Spanish, he shouted, "Head to port! Circle round and load the canons portside!"

"Wha'? You're goin' back?" You asked, but he ignored you. Within a few minutes they were nearly parallel to the Spanish ship.

"FIRE!"

Immediately, the canons sounded, and the enemy ship erupted with debris and fire. "LOAD AGAIN!" More and more shots were fired, until there was nothing left of the ship but flotsam in the water. You watched the frame sink pathetically in flames.

"Lower the colors!" He shouted, releasing the cuff from around the railing and attaching it to your left wrist, "Come on, poppet, it's time we had a little talk. No more shouting or fighting."

"Why did ya do tha'?" You asked, still staring off at the remains. He pushed you along and nearly let you fall down the stairs, "Can't leave any survivors."

You looked at him incredulously, mouth gaping in puzzlement.

Why keep you?


	2. Bad News, Rotten Luck

Arthur had scolded Alfred about letting you out, but for the most part he got off the hook easy. Matthew had come down and left quickly, helping Arthur back to his own quarters so it was just you and Arthur alone in the captain's quarters.

It was silent for a time, Arthur busy opening a bottle of rum and pouring himself a drink, setting the bottle on the cluttered table, "Want a drink, poppet? Rum, Scotch, any of the sort?"

"A li'le early, don' you fink?"

"Never too early for rum. Here, sit," He kicked one of the chairs so it slid across the room in your direction. You gazed at it hesitantly for a moment, but sat down when he urged you, "Come now, it's not going to bite. Sit."

You felt it wasn't much of an offer, but rather a command, so you did so, "Sure you don't want a drink?"

"No, I don' wan' no drink." You stretched out in the chair in a rather unladylike fashion.

He took a sip from his glass and sat on the table across from you. The silence returned from before as he stared at you, glass to his lips. After he set the glass down, he continued to stare, rubbing his face in exasperation.

"Wha'?" You asked, annoyed at his staring.

"What to do with you, what to do..." He pondered in a singsong voice, taking off his hat and scratching his head, "Hm... question is what are you good for..."

"I'm righ' 'ere, I can 'ear you talkin'. Why don' you address me since I'M the one we're talkin' 'bou', wanker..."

"That seems to be your favorite word... Do you even know what it means?"

"Qui' changin' the subject. Wha' you wan' wif me? Why am I 'ere and why didn' you blow me up like you did the Spaniards?"

He took another sip of his rum and sighed, "I blew them up because they're the enemy."

"And I'm no' the enemy?"

"I never said that."

"Then wha' you keepin' me 'ere for? If I'm the enemy, shoot me. If I'm no', then why you keepin' me?"

He finished the glass and filled it up again before speaking, "...Men seemed so excited about it...couldn't say no..."

"Wha's tha'?"

"I said that I couldn't say no. The men seemed so excited about having captured you, the captain–– and to top it all off, a woman––that I couldn't say to leave you on board or to kill you."

"Bu' YOU don' wan' me 'ere."

"You're a woman, you don't belong here. You belong back home in Cheapside, or Whitechapel, or wherever you're from in East London with that Cockney accent of yours, with a husband and a family. Out here is dangerous for a woman."

"Well wha' else was I to do when my mover died and my faver walked ou' years before? I ain' go' no siblin's, so I figured why no' go ou' on an adventure. Caribbean was free, fough' I'go ou' to make a livin' 'ere. Go' myself caugh' up wif pirates, bough' somefin' illegal off 'em. Pledged to become a privateer for the Queen, and go' myself a crew. I can' go back. I go' novin' to go back to."

"You can start over."

"This WAS my startin' over. I'm done."

"Then you've got rotten luck, love. Now, what to do with you... The men will mutiny if I don't keep you... what good are you?"

"Wha' good am I?"

"Yes, what can you do?"

"Listen 'ere, I'm no' 'ere to do no cleanin' or anyfink like that. I'm a privateer, you go' that? I sail the seas and raid the enemies' ships. I don' do no cleanin' or cookin' if tha's wha' you mean."

"Well, we don't really have a cook... Alfred's been doing all the cooking since the men won't let me near the galley... I don't know why though, I mean, the stuff I make is delicious..." He began muttering under his breath but then came back to the subject, "Anyway, I'm not asking if you want to cook, I'm asking if you can cook, and if you can then, again, I'm not asking you, you WILL cook. Alfred's food is rather... well, you'll see what I mean..."

You glowered, "I said I'm no' doin' no cookin'."

He drew his flintlock, "This is why I don't like keeping prisoners... Always arguing and talking back... It's just easier to get rid of them..." He cocked it back and aimed it at your head, "You will do whatever I ask of you while you're on my ship, understood? For now you will be working in the galley, whether you can cook or not, then maybe my men can loose a few pounds."

"I said I'm––"

At that, he fired the pistol, but the small ball of lead flew past your face and dug into the wall across the room. You had felt yourself flinch and unconsciously duck a bit, but you righted yourself to show that you had no fear. Unfortunately, he had already seen it.

"I'm not afraid to fire this into your skull, poppet. Just remember that." He grabbed you by the arm and pulled you up out of the chair, dragging you back out of the room and up the stairs. The sun had reached it's peak in the sky, and it was rather hot as he brought you to the main deck. The men were mostly at work, but since everything was going well and they had put all the supplies in order, several of them were slacking off in the middle of the deck, playing cards.

"Oi, cap'n!" One of them exclaimed, noticing you two walking towards the door on the opposite side, the one you had accidentally run through before.

Arthur stopped and looked over at him lazily, "Yes?"

The man got up and muttered something to his companions before running over, "Cap'n, we were waitin' on you. I have some news to report."

"Yes, well, can it not wait until I get our prisoner in the galley?"

"Oh, is that where she's goin' cap'n? Well, uh, it's kind of important––"

"She's going into the galley?" One of the other men playing cards exclaimed, turning around to look at you, "What's the point in keeping her then if we're never going to get to see her?" He smiled at you and patted the wood beside himself, "Hey, poppet, why don't you join us over here? We'll have a great time."

"Cap'n, it's kind of important..."

"Alright, alright! You, get over there. Don't leave there. Don't wander around the ship." He pushed you toward the circle of men with the cards and then addressed the men, "You hear that? Don't let her leave your sight!"

One of the other men waved in compliance, "Don't worry, captain, there's no chance of that!"

You looked at Arthur, eyes narrowed, "You expect me to––" He pushed you again, "Get over there."

"I can walk on my ow––'ey!" He pushed you again, this time knocking you to the ground. You rolled over the wood onto your back, groaning, "Ow, dammit, that 'urt..."

He ignored you while you listened to the laughter of the crew at your expense. One of the men came up to you and looked at you from above, "Well, guess the captain doesn't really feel anything for you. Come with us, love." He pulled you to your feet and you stumbled behind him as he dragged you to the circle. The men were still chuckling as you sat down amidst them.

"You know how to play Twenty-one, love?" One of them asked, tossing a shilling into the middle of the circle.

You understood the rules well enough, you'd seen your own crew play it plenty of times. You nodded, and so one of the men gestured to you, "In that case, toss in a shilling."

"You idiot, you honestly think she has a shilling to spare? Here, here's a shilling you can borrow. Let's see how much money you can make me." The man that had dragged you over flashed the coin pointedly before tossing it in the pile. "Alright, deal 'em out."

He flashed a smile, "I'm Scott by the way."

You nodded and looked at the two cards on the floor in front of you. It was a pretty good hand: an eight and a six, which gave you good room to call for another card.

"Alright James, you're up." The dealer nodded to the man to his left and fingered the deck in his hands. He only had a seven facing up––doubtless he would be hard to beat.

"Yeah? Hit me one." The deep-brown haired man waved for a card, having plenty of room for more cards as he only had a three and a two.

Scott tapped you on the shoulder, "Well while they're having their fun, lemme introduce you to the group. That's Stephen," he pointed to the dealer, "and the gentleman to the right of him is James as you got earlier. Next to him is Henry, and after the gent next to you is Reid. Over here is Sean and Allan, and finally that's George."

They waved as they were each introduced, smiling or nodding as they did so. They were all different ages, Sean appearing the youngest around eighteen or so, and George being the oldest, as noted by his scraggly grey hair and beard. You let the corners of your mouth rise in a slight expression of greeting, but you couldn't have cared less at their names.

"So what's yours?" Sean asked, rubbing his blackened face with his hands, which were just as black and only smeared the grime more.

"...(Y/N)" You muttered reluctantly.

"Well, (Y/N), let's see how well you hold out. Allan is the best Twenty-one player here."

* * *

"You're horrible at this! Ah, why did I ever let you have that shilling!"

"I'm no' 'orrible, I jus'..." You protested, watching as Allan reaped in his winnings. Although small, it was still a good pot for Twenty-one, and it was the fourth time he'd won in a row.

"You have such lousy luck, love," Scott shook his head dejectedly, tossing his cards over to Stephen, "I'm done, boys. I'm fresh out. This girl here just lost my last one." He ran a hand through his unkempt black hair and stood up, "I'm headin' up to the crow's nest again. Be watchful of sandbars and all since we're heading into port."

"'Eadin' to port?" You asked, "Why? Where?"

"Love, you ever heard of Tortuga?"

Of course you had. It was one of the best pirate safe havens, especially for British and French pirates. It was a Spanish-free zone, a place where everyone had equal enemies. It was also one of the best places to buy black-market items, and one of the best places to get a crew. It was perfect for privateers and buccaneers alike.

"Yeah, o' course I 'ave. Been there plenty o' times meself."

"Well that's where we be headin'. Now I've got to go, love. Behave yourself down here with all these bilge rats. Boys, you're still in charge of her." He gave a lazy salute and ran up to the nearest shroud, climbing it quickly and disappearing against the setting sun.

"Tortuga, huh?" You muttered before looking at the other boys, "Why're we goin' there?"

"Trade. We got too many supplies on board since we took care o' those Spaniards. And we ought to get a good bit of 'em off before we run into trouble." Stephen explained, packing up the cards.

"We're not heading toward Tortuga right now."

You looked over your shoulder to find Arthur walking toward the group. He took off his hat and mussed his hair before putting it back on and sighing, "The ship's been getting slow and it's been a year already since we last careened it. We need to drag it up on shore to scrape everything off."

The men began groaning, "Can't we do that after Tortuga?"

"No. We're still a few good knots away and there's no guarantee we won't see any Spanish ships out here. Antonio has a nasty habit of showing up at the worst time, and always out of nowhere."

"So where are we headin' captain?" Stephen asked, standing up and retying his do-rag. The others stood up as well, George pulling a flask out of his coat and taking a swig.

"Beyond the horizon is Salt Cay Island. Since it's British territory, we'll stay the night there and careen the ship in the morning. From there we'll head off to Tortuga. We should reach there by the late afternoon, if my calculations are correct." Arthur grabbed you by the collar and hoisted you to your feet, "Thanks for looking after her, boys, but it's high time she got to the galley."

The men began to argue, "Captain that's––"

"You have work to do. Get moving." He turned around and dragged you with him, obviously not pleased with whatever he had been told, and his temper only worsened the more he walked. He slammed open the door to the crew's quarters and upon finding one of the members in his bunk, Arthur screamed, "Get up you lazy arse! I want all hands on deck! You can sleep when you're dead!"

The startled man hit his head on the bunk above him and hastily saluted as Arthur and you marched by, "Y-Yessir!"

The two of you descended the stairs into the gun deck, where three men were caring for the cannons, one of them being Matthew. Alfred sat on a crate behind him, holding his side. When they both saw Arthur, their faces lit up. But once they saw the anger surrounding the captain, their expressions drooped, and Matthew asked, "What's the matter, Arthur?"

"Aw, is he upset we're not at Tortuga? You know the last time we were there I thought he was getting along pretty well with a lady-friend. I bet he's anxious to get back with her, if you know what I mean, Mattie." Alfred joked, smiling despite the atmosphere.

Arthur avoided the bullet and grumbled, "We're not going to Tortuga."

"What! Why not?"

"Alfred, I need you to come with me."

"But––"

Arthur grabbed Alfred's arm and yanked him to his feet, much to Alfred's discomfort from his wound, "Do I need to drag you around everywhere like I do her? I said you're coming with me, and that's an order. Now get your arse in the galley before I serve it up for dinner."

"Y-Yeah, no need to get your knickers in a twist. I'm going."

Before you could say anything to Matthew, whose expression pleaded for an explanation of Arthur's anger, you were dragged off down the hall with Alfred in the same position as you.

There were stairs down at the end of the deck that descended into the lower hold, where the galley was located towards the stern of the ship. You were thrown rather unceremoniously into the ship's kitchen along with Alfred. A ring of keys was tossed in with you.

"You teach her what she needs to know in here. I want dinner, and it had better not suck. You understand?" And with that, the captain slammed the door shut and left. Alfred was sitting on the floor holding his side, grimacing, "That idiot. He's a real piece of work when he's upset about something."

"Yeah?" You helped him to his feet, "Considerin' I've been dragged all 'round this ship in 'is fury, I fink tha's an understatemen'."

He picked up the keys and unlocked your shackles, "I just hope it's somethin' he'll get over fast... There, now you can actually do some cooking. Here, I'll give you a real quick tour of the place, but then I gotta go back to Matthew." He began to light the lanterns before sitting on one of the counters, "Alright, so that over there is the oven and stovetop. All the pots and pans are underneath this counter and the utensils are over in that drawer. The platter-ware is in the cabinet beneath the drawer. All the stores are here in the hold. We have a good amount since we just got a bunch of supplies, so you should be fine. The rum and alcohol is all in this hold too. You know how to cook?"

You scratched the back of your head, "Uh, well, one o' the men on me ship cooked the meals, so to be hones', I've never made a meal in me life. I've been preyin' on taverns and pubs me entire life t'get meals af'er my paren's died."

"Oh... good luck. Well, I'll see around. Oh, and if you don't have enough light, the porthole's behind that crate. Not that it's going to do much for you in about an hour." He began to walk out the door, "Oh, and by the way, don't stress too much about Arthur's dinner. His sense of taste is awful, so he'll practically eat anything you give him, as long as you don't tell him what's in it. Bye." He shut the door behind him, leaving you in the small and dark galley.

"...I've never cooked a' all. Damn. Wha' am I suppose'ta make?"

* * *

The food wasn't all that bad as you had discovered a cookbook in one of the cabinets, but then again it was never hard to please a crew with food, so long as it was edible. The crew had ranked it better than Arthur's and healthier than Alfred's, whatever that meant. But due to your success, you were officially posted to the galley. You'd rather swab the entire deck than continue to make meals for thirty or so men. After you had cleaned up the kitchen and all the dishes (which took an unbearably long time), the sun had already set and the ship was only a few meters away from the shore of Salt Cay.

Thinking maybe that since you're job was done you could have some free time, you left the kitchen and decided to go back up on deck. The men were still at hard work, checking for sandbars and reefs and tying the ropes to the hull of the ship in preparation for the careening. The wind was working with them, so the ship sailed in to the coast rather easily; however, it did reach a stopping point that was still too deep for the men to properly reach all areas of the hull.

"You. Yeah, you. Get down there, we need all the man power we can get," One of the men said to you, someone who you hadn't met yet. He pointed to the ladder over the side that the men were climbing down with and then approached it himself.

"Bu' I'm––" You began to protest, but then you were pushed toward the ladder by someone else and onto it, nearly losing your grip and falling overboard. You climbed down after regaining your footing, your heart racing at the prospect of almost dying. You could already see the shape the ship was in as you descended, the rope rocking back and forth from the others down below. It needed repair; sure, the deck and hold had looked quite good, but it was clear that the ship had been in some rough battles. Deep grooves carved into the oak hull ran down the sides parallel, rough patch-jobs clearly showed where there had been holes from cannonballs. Amidst the scarring, mussels and other sea creatures such as barnacles had burrowed their way into the wood, using the ship as a home; and they were EVERYWHERE.

By the time you had reached the bottom, the men had already assembled towards the hull and grabbed hold of the ropes. As the wind was still working with the ship and there were plenty of able men, with a little bit of cursing thrown about, the ship was finally pulled up to shore far enough in so that the hull could be careened. You were handed a knife and was directed toward the hull, "Start scraping."

The mussels and barnacles were rather easy, but it was the worms and other weird creatures that were a pain. They clamped on tight to the wood or would shrink back. The buildup of all the living beings was quite disgusting and a messy job. It would take more than a few hours to get it all off on both sides, and the light was fading fast. The sun had almost sunk past the horizon.

"Ah, so you're actually being a good poppet now?"

You rolled your eyes as you worked on a thick caking of barnacles.

"Don't damage her. She's served me well."

"'Ope you're takin' good care o' 'er like she is takin' care o' you," You grunted, finally freeing the barnacles and revealing the wood. You shivered when you felt the ocean water soak your pants as the tide began to come in.

"Migh' I make a suggestion?" You stopped scraping the sides and looked at Arthur, but he held up his finger, "Hold that thought just one second, love," then he shouted to the men, "Sunlight's fading fast, boys, so let's call it a night!"

You shut your mouth. He directed his attention back to you and asked, "You were saying?"

"Took the words ou' o' me mouf." You muttered, tucking the knife into your belt.

"No, no, no, love." He grabbed your shoulder and held out his hand.

You groaned and handed him the dagger, and he released your shoulder, "Do me a favor, love. Go tell the crew still up on board to grab as many rum kegs as they can. You too, grab one and bring them back down here to the beach."

You nodded halfheartedly, and he asked, "What, did you want something else? Brandy perhaps? I think I still have a good bottle of French brandy in my quarters if that's what you want."

You ignored him and struggled to the ladder, the waves catching your legs as the tide was coming in. Using the rope ladder as an anchor, you caught yourself and climbed up. There were no men on deck, so you assumed the only ones there were in the hold, gun deck, and crew's quarters. You passed through the crew's quarters and descended into the gun deck and immediately found Matthew again, "Oh, you seem t'be 'ere quite of'en, don' you?" You remarked, seeing him cleaning one of the demi-culverins.

"Of course. I'm one of the gunners," He said, "Arthur would rather me be down here than up there in case of an attack."

"So tha' wanker actually cares, does 'e?"

"Well... I mean, he really does... He just doesn't like to show it, that's all."

"Tha's a lovely sentiment. Personally I find 'im a righ' foul git wivout a soul, bu' you know, tha's jus' me opinion," You found yourself saying that, but you weren't sure if you actually believed it. Your distaste for the man and the hatred of being "owned" said so, but your head told you otherwise. The whole thing seemed like a bit of an act at times, and you would find yourself thinking that maybe he wasn't so bad, but then he'd turn around and spit in your face and remind you who owned who. Your opinion was a constant roller coaster.

"Don't talk about him that––"

"Righ', I came down 'ere t'tell you tha' 'e wan's you t'bring as many rum kegs as you can carry. If you see anyone else, tell 'em too."

"...Alfred's in the crew's quarters. I'll tell the others when I go into the hold." He turned around and headed for the stairs, descending below.

"...Bu' I didn' see 'im or anyone in the crew's quarters... Maybe 'e already go' off the ship..." You looked around the gun deck, and there was only two other people. You gave them the command and went down into the hold yourself to help carry some. The men were rolling the kegs toward nets that were lowered down. You helped out, and eventually fifteen standard-sized kegs were hoisted onto the main deck, while you and a few others carried out seven small kegs.

By the time you reached the deck, the sun was gone, the moon shining bright; however, it was countered by the roaring glow of a bonfire towards the upper part of the shore. The men were already playing instruments and enjoying themselves, and now all that was left was for the rum to arrive. You handed off your kegs to one of the men and watched as they climbed down. There was no way you were going down there, not with thirty or so pirates who would be dead drunk within an hour and you being the only girl. You knew how that would go, and you would like to avoid that situation at all costs.

You looked around deck for a moment and sat down, resting your back against the cap rail. You looked up at the sky, at all the stars and constellations, and the edge of the cockboat.

The cockboat.

You stared at it for a second before launching yourself to your feet and immediately climbing in it. The oars were there too, and you grabbed the rope to start hoisting it down slowly. No one would notice, and although you really didn't have a plan or any supplies, the Caicos islands weren't far at all. You could surely make it there in one night.

There came to be a major flaw in your plan, however: it was the sound of a flintlock being cocked back.

"Step out of the boat, poppet. If you don't, I will shoot. We're supposed to have fun tonight, and I wasn't planning on cleaning up your brains. Now, be a good girl and get back on the ship." He sounded calm, but there was a bite behind his last words.

You narrowed your eyes as you met his green ones and slowly retied the rope to the ship. You climbed back onto the ship, eyes watching the pistol. Before you knew it, you were in chains again with the pistol put away and his arm around your waist, pushing you toward the rope ladder.

"Alright, let's go have some fun, love."

**Just a quick note, Tortuga is a REAL place for all those who recognize it from Pirates of the Caribbean. It's called Île de la Tortue in Haiti, and it's a small island just off the coast.**


	3. Are We Having Fun Yet?

The music was well played. It was fast and it seemed fun to dance to, but unfortunately you could not partake in the festivities since you were sitting with your wrists in chains again on the sand, looking out at the crowd while Arthur sat above you on one of the kegs, his feet propped up on some driftwood one of the men had found. The men were enjoying themselves, dancing around and drinking to their hearts' content. The fire danced, sending shadows across the beach. Although you were in the Caribbean, the night was rather cold, and so the fire was comforting; it was just too bad you were too far away to feel it's heat. You shivered, wishing you had your coat.

You hadn't put it on the night they attacked you––you hadn't thought about it. And now it either lay at the bottom of the ocean or had dissolved into ash from the flames when the ship sunk. Scowling, you looked up at his smug face as he took a swig from his mug, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol. He saw you from the corner of his eye, "What? Something wrong?"

"Your face."

"In all seriousness, love."

"Wha' are we celebratin' for?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Then wha's all this for?"

"Nothing, as I said before. There's nothing wrong with having a bit of fun now and then, is there?"

"You weren' in a very 'fun' mood before."

He frowned and set down his mug, "You're right. I wasn't."

"Wha' was the bad news?"

He stood up on the drift wood and began to pace a bit, seeming to be internally debating over whether or not he should tell you. He finally muttered, "Antonio..." His eyes narrowed and his words were bitter. The name alone seemed to change his mood sour.

"You keep sayin' tha' name. Antonio... is 'e tha' famous Spanish captain, the one sailin' the––"

"Yeah, that's him."

"...Is 'e your rival?"

"Gee, whatever gave you that impression?" Every syllable was dripping with sarcasm.

"Well then, wha's the problem? Wha's goin' on?"

"He's one thing. However, have you ever heard of Francis Bonnefoy?"

That name didn't sound familiar, but it was easy to pick out where he was from based on the name, "No, but assumin' 'e's French, I fink tha' automa'ically makes 'im a target for the bof o' us."

"You're right, he is French. That frog is another pirate captain, a quite formidable one just like Antonio. Then there's another. His name is Lord Gilbert Beilschmidt of Prussia, and unlike Antonio and Francis he has a full navy at his command."

"And these three are all some'ow connected togever?"

"That's right. I could handle all of them if they were alone––although it would be quite difficult to handle Beilschmidt's navy by myself––but it seems that they've gone and made a mockery of Britain." He grabbed his mug and chugged down the last of the rum before slamming it down on the keg, "Damn them! Three of Britain's enemies––three of MY enemies––have formed an alliance! How the bloody hell am I going to go up against all three of them, with a navy to back them up!"

"Why is a lord joinin' up wif a bunch o' pirates?"

"Specifically because of me. That Prussian bastard has a grudge against me because I sunk a German ship not too long ago that had his brother on it. So now since he wants to get his revenge, he's gathered up two of the best pirates around that already hate my guts and have formed an alliance." He sat down on the driftwood and put his hand to his face in frustration, "What the bloody hell am I supposed to do? As great as the _Santa Rita_ is, she's not built to take on a whole navy."

You didn't know what advice to offer him; it sounded like it was a quite a hopeless case. But it didn't matter, as two silhouettes broke from the riotous crowd and joined the two of you.

"Hey, (Y/N), come with me!" Alfred grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet before you had any time to disagree, "Let's dance!"

"Are you sure you can dance wif tha' wound o' yours?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine, it's just a little––"

"Alfred, leave her be. She's not dancing with you," Arthur stood up and addressed you, "Sit down."

"Why not!"

"She's going to sit here, she's not a guest, she's a prisoner. She's just lucky she's not sitting alone in the hold right now."

"...Didn' wanna be 'ere in the firs' place..." You muttered, but he didn't hear.

"But––"

"No."

Alfred looked at you, then back at Arthur, and then a smile crept onto his face, "Alright, then YOU come with me!" He grabbed Arthur by the wrist and pulled him to his feet, dragging him into the dancing crowd. "Hey! Alfred, stop this, let me go!" You watched them disappear among the moving bodies, highly impressed with Alfred's strength.

Matthew stood next to you, smiling, "He needs that. Well, do you want to dance too?"

"I-I... Well, I..."

"It's real easy. Here, Alfred got these from Arthur's quarters before we all came down here," He jingled a ring of keys in his hand and picked out the key for your chains, unlocking them and letting them fall to sand. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the crowd just like Alfred had done. It was quite crowded, flashes of shadow and color flying by you as the men dashed by in their drunken stupor. It was a sea of faces, the only one your recognized was Matthew's in front of you as he spun you around, smiling and laughing.

Before you knew it, at the pace of the fiddlers, you were passed off to someone else. You didn't get a chance to see his face, because you were passed off again, and again, until you had lost all sense of direction and your head was spinning. Finally, a face you recognized grabbed your hand and spun you around.

"Scott!" You exclaimed, relieved to at least know one of these men. He grabbed your other hand and twirled you around, "Evenin' love! Oh, it looks like I won't be with ya much longer. Someone else wants ya. Bye now!" He turned you around and released your hands, and you were caught by Matthew again.

"Oh, Matthew... I'mma gettin' dizzy... you mind if––"

He put his finger to your lips and smiled, then took your hand again. The music sped up, reaching the climax of the piece, and as it grew louder, Matthew handed you off once again, "Last partner!"

You tripped, stumbling forward, attempting to catch your balance; but you ran into someone, an all too familiar crimson coat. You looked up, and both of you glared at each other in disgust, "You!"

He snarled, "What the hell are you doing here! Why-how did you-who let you out!" He was smacked in the arm, and you both looked over to see Alfred and Matthew dancing. Alfred shouted, "Start dancing you two! Song's almost over!"

"I am not dancing with her!" He protested, but both Alfred and Matthew shouted, "Just dance, will you!"

You were quite shocked when Arthur's gloved hands grabbed yours roughly and began to push you back into the movements. He was a bit clumsy, and his scowl only added to the air of awkwardness that surrounded the two of you. Although you were trying so hard not to show any signs of enjoying yourself, a smile crept on your face; when he looked directly at you, you tried to fight it.

He spun you around several times at the very end of the song, carefully avoiding the other men in the crowd, and then caught you a little before the last note. You hadn't noticed before, but you were out of breath, panting heavily as he held you. You looked at him and he at you––and he was breathing just as heavily––and before you knew it, he had let go and you were in the sand.

He turned around and spat on the ground, "Damn wench," pushing through the sea of men to return to his mock throne. You picked yourself up and snarled, "Bloody git."

You dusted the sand off yourself, and you didn't bother to look up as you brushed your knees when Alfred and Matthew came over. "You two planned tha', didn' you..."

"What? Us? No. Here, come with us, this way!" They grabbed you and pulled you through the crowd as it settled down, the fiddlers done for the night. The men were turning to drinking, settling down on the sand around the fire. You stumbled and squeezed through, losing Alfred and Matthew at one point. Although you were momentarily panicked when having lost them––after all, you were in the middle of a sea of drunk men––you quickly found them, who were just as panicked. They finally pulled you to the center of the mass, where the bonfire was. It was surrounded by all the kegs of rum, and there were plenty of men tripping over their own feet to get to them, mugs in hand, some of them still half full with the alcohol sloshing around and spilling down the rims.

Alfred and Matthew grabbed three glasses, filling them to the brim with rum. They sat down in front of the bonfire, a spot in between them, and patted the ground, holding out one of the glasses, "Here, sit!"

"N-No, I really shouldn'––" You began, but then you looked around yourself. It seemed it would actually be smarter to join them, considering they were the only sober ones left around you and you trusted (if you could call it that) them just a little more than the rest of the crew. On top of that, it was a bad idea to fight your way back through the crowd; after all, it had been hard enough to get where you were with Alfred and Matthew's help, let alone getting back yourself surrounded by people you didn't know.

So, although fighting with your logic, you sat down and took the glass from Alfred, taking a sip slowly. You three didn't talk much, but instead drank, the boys more quickly than you. So quickly, in fact, that Alfred was already done with his first glass before you had even reached half of yours. It wasn't long before Alfred was slurring his words, and soon he tipped over the edge, going into fits of rage and then laughing hysterically, leaning on you, dancing around in a drunken stupor and tripping, and then finally falling over, glass still in hand, on his back. He gave one final shout of, "I'm the hero!" before falling asleep where he fell.

"...Seems 'e doesn' 'ave the stomach for it." You said, glancing at the sleeping boy and taking a sip, still working on your first glass, "Or at leas' the brains t'take it slower."

"No, that's just Alfred. Arthur always tells him to slow it down too, but he never listens."

"Wha' 'bou' you?"

"Me? I drink, but just not at the rate at the rest of them," he gestured to the sleeping masses around you, "It takes me a really long time to end up like Alfred." He smiled and drank from his own glass. You nodded and sighed, swirling the alcohol in your own and taking a large gulp; it was going to be a long night.

* * *

The fire had been put out, a good bit of the kegs finished, and most of the crew laid where they had fallen in a drunk sleep; however, you were still awake though, unable to allow yourself to close your eyes out of precaution, untrusting of the men. You sat with your arms around your knees, staring at the dark and still slightly smoldering ashes, some of the wood still left either unharmed, blackened, or half-eaten by the flames. Rubbing your wrists, you stood up, cold again. You figured that maybe you could find someone's coat and borrow it for the night.

Casting shadows even in the dark of the night, the moon shone brilliantly, the reflection dancing on the surface of the sea. It provided the light you needed to search for a coat, something that seemed impossible to find amongst the dozing crowd. You stumbled over sprawled out arms and legs, tripped over discarded mugs and glasses, and stepped on a few fingers, all while looking down at your feet in search for that one article of clothing.

Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of the lapping waves, farther up the coast than before because of the tide. The ship's masts were dark towers thrust into the sky, the massive black silhouette of the _Santa Rita_ was silent. The only sounds were the waves brushing the sand as they rolled in, the wind in the tropical forest behind you––farther up the beach––rustling leaves and branches, and the ever present obnoxious snoring of the crew.

You turned away from the ocean and back towards the men; you spotted the rum keg and drift wood, but you couldn't find the king that had sat on the throne. You thought perhaps he had gone into his quarters on the ship, but after inching closer, you spied him with his head propped against the wood, hat beside him and his arms folded on his chest, sleeping. Satisfied with knowing where he was, you stepped backward to continue looking for a coat, but froze when you heard the sharp rattling of metal under your foot.

He stirred slightly, but Arthur did not wake, and you sighed in relief, heart pounding. Beneath your foot, half-covered with sand, were the chains that had been around your wrists with the keys. He had forgotten to put them on before he had left you with Alfred and Matthew.

Then the chains gave you an idea. Leaving them be, you crept towards Arthur again, keeping as quiet as possible. You crouched down, approaching with much caution until you were right next to him. On his right side was his flintlock, just what you needed; it was quite a difficult task to remove it from his belt without waking him.

After many small heart-attacks (he kept shifting in his sleep), you managed to free the flintlock from his waist and carry it safely in your arms away from him. Extremely happy with your success, you ran to the rope ladder and clambered up as fast as you could, the pistol stowed away in your belt. Making sure to be quiet while on board, you entered the captain's quarters and immediately found the pile of rifles, grabbing two, a bag of gunpowder, and a handful of medallions before leaving. You deposited them with the flintlock into the cockboat and climbed in, grabbing the rope and this time making sure you weren't being watched on the deck.

The descent to the water went smoothly, and a little jolt of relief filled your chest when the keel of the little boat pressed against the waves. Stepping out of the boat into the shallow water, you pushed it out until it was deep enough to start rowing. You could see your surroundings better, the sky going from a deep black and blue cluttered with stars to a misty grey. You estimated it was about four in the morning.

It was a long process, but you finally got a good momentum, digging the oars into the silver water. Even after a minute or so, you felt like you had gotten nowhere. You grit your teeth and held the oars tight, "Come on y'damn boat, move."

It glided across the water, but it would always stop short, and so again, you rowed violently, but this time you genuinely felt it stop, hitting something hard. Frustrated, you pursed your lips, rolling your eyes, "Now wha'?" You looked over your shoulder but then immediately looked away, groaning and holding your head, "You've go'a be kiddin' me. I's still tha' shallow, eh...?"

"And just where do you think you're going?" He growled, and you sunk a little in your seat; he was pissed.

"Jus' ou' for a row. Couldn' sleep 'n all, so I––"

"Shut it. I've had enough of you. You're nothing but a pain in my arse and toy for the others––"

You snatched his flintlock in the boat and cocked it back, but while you had done that, he had put his foot up on the edge and pushed down; you hadn't realized this until it was too late, and soon you were in the water, the cockboat capsized. After kneeling in the water––the water only coming up to your waist––and gasping from taking a gulp of the salty liquid in shock, you held up the flintlock, eyes narrowed.

Arthur laughed, "And just what do you think that's going to do now that the gunpowder is wet?" But his laughter was cut short as his smirk flashed to a scowl of hate and he grabbed your soaked hair. He pried the pistol from your hand and tucked in his belt before punching you in the stomach and pushing you into the water by your neck as you folded from the blow. You reached for anything, trying to come up from air, seeing nothing but shimmering light and darkness all combined in the watery punishment.

Your hands touched the sand at the bottom, and you managed to pull one of your legs underneath you to push up. The two of you struggled, you fighting for air and him for your death. Eventually you managed to come out of his grasp and push up, struggling to feel the cold night air fill your lungs again.

"Le' go o' me!" You coughed, digging your nails into his wrist as he reached to grab your neck. You stood up as much as you could, trying to hold your balance as he began to overpower you. The morning sun crept over the horizon and the flash of his flintlock at his waist caught your eye. Struggling to keep his hand in check as it inched closer to your throat, you lunged for the weapon with your left hand and pulled it away. You flipped it to have a grip on the barrel and smashed it down on his head; the impact left him dazed and he retracted his hand, feeling his forehead. He grit his teeth when he saw the red liquid on his fingers.

"You little––" He never finished the statement, falling back into the water and sitting there, head in his hands, "My head..." he groaned.

"Are you calmed down enough?" You asked, doubled over while trying to regain your breath. Your lips curled into a sneer, "You deserved tha' blow... I 'ope you know you're a righ' foul git."

"You're not worth any of the trouble you give me," He mussed his hair and checked his forehead again. He forced himself onto his feet, wobbling a bit from the movement of the water.

"You know I wasn' expectin' you t'stop jus' from tha' blow. Tha's no' the only fink messin' wif your 'ead now is it? Drank your fair share o' rum las' nigh' didn' you?" You smirked, "Tha' mus' be why you're in such a pissy a'itude this mornin'. Your personality is bad enough wifou' the 'angover. Dunno 'ow your crew stands you."

You expected a retort, some sort of insult, even violence from him, but he didn't respond. Instead he looked out at the horizon, dumbstruck by what he saw. He lunged for the cockboat––which had drifted a good bit away––and flipped it back over, "Find those rifles!" he commanded, "Damn it, find them!"

"Wha'? Why? An' now you're askin' for me 'elp?"

"Dammit, just find them!"

"Why?"

He snarled at you and pointed to the horizon, "Just look what's out there. Just look! Dammit, they've found us already!"

You squinted at the sun, and far out in the distance were small ships, black masts shooting into the sky in large numbers; it wasn't merely a few ships––it was the navy.

"Is tha'...?"

"Yes, you idiot, that's them, that's Antonio, Francis, and Beilschmidt. They have no mercy for British pirates and don't think they'll be any more lenient to you because you're a prisoner. They'll sink the ship, they'll sink all of us, and whoever survives they'll catch and kill. They won't––and don't––care. If you want to live, you had better do as I say because otherwise I'll kill you myself. Now find those damn rifles and get back to shore!"

"Your ship is––"

"You think I don't know that! I have two options right now, either careen her and basically have them catch up to us or set sail now and be slower than hell. We're careening her, we're going to put up a fight. Once you've found the rifles, get everyone up. Tell them to get their arses moving!"

Although you disliked being told what to do, with your life hanging in the balance, you groped in the water for rifles, feeling in the sand. Your hands came across a few of the medallions, and you scooped those up and hid them in your trousers without him noticing. After a few minutes you managed to find the two rifles and the bag, but the bag snagged on the barrel of one of the rifles, the gunpowder pouring out into the water.

"Ah, damn..." You muttered, trying to clog up the hole, but it was too late. Arthur wasn't going to be too happy if he found out, and so you finished dumping the bag and tucked it in your shirt so he wouldn't see. He was several feet away, pushing the cockboat towards the shore. You waded after him, muttering under your breath in frustration.

"Get your arses up! Wake up! You hear me! I said wake up! Where's Alfred and Matthew! Start scraping!" Arthur shouted, screaming at the top of his lungs; he pulled the boat up on shore and wrung out his shirt, which was soaked along with his trousers and boots, "Now's not the time to be whining about your headaches! Drop the rum and grab a knife!"

The men, groaning and complaining about being woken up so early, wobbled to their feet, some unable to even stand. He shouted again. "Did you hear me? I said to start scraping! No one gets breakfast until we're off the beach and into the deep again! We've got the Spanish, French, and Germans on our arses and if we don't get moving now we might as well surrender."

"Arthur!" Matthew pushed his way through the crowd, followed by a groggy Alfred, "What's going on?" You stood behind Arthur, still holding the rifles, soaking wet, water running down your face from your hair. You desperately wanted the morning sun to warm you up.

"Antonio. Antonio and Francis are just on the horizon with the German lord. You see all those ships, Matthew? I want you to find Scott and tell him to count all of them and find out if there are more than just one Spanish or French ship. I wouldn't be surprised if they managed to bring along some other pirates from their nations."

"R-Right." He plunged back into the crowd, leaving Alfred behind. The blue-eyed boy yawned and rubbed his eyes before taking his glasses out of his shirt pocket––Matthew had put them there the night before to keep Alfred from smashing them in his sleep.

"I'm starving..." Alfred mumbled, and you opened your mouth to say something, but Arthur beat you to it, "This isn't the time to be thinking about that Alfred. Take the cockboat and attach it to the ship again. When you're done, careen the ship with the others. I'm estimating an hour before they get here."

Alfred kind of nodded, but he wasn't entirely paying attention. Arthur grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yelled, "Did you hear me!"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you. I'm going." He muttered, ripping Arthur's hand from his shirt and fixing it before stalking off toward the ship. The rest of the men were doing the same, complaining and grumbling and confused. Arthur grabbed your arm and dragged you along through the crowd until you ended up at the spot where he had been sleeping, his coat and hat still there. He picked them up and shook them out before putting them back on despite his wet clothes.

Then he picked up the shackles in the sand and pocketed them with the ring of keys. You were pushed toward the ship––he was encouraging you to walk on your own––and told to climb the ladder.

"Am I no' gonna scrape wif the res' of'em?"

"Go."

You had difficulty climbing up the ladder as you were still holding the rifles, and almost fell on top of Arthur once or twice when you lost your footing. Once you reached the ledge of the ship's cap rail, you tossed the rifles over onto the deck and climbed over yourself. The morning sun cascaded onto the upper deck, casting a large shadow on the main deck. Unfortunately, the sun on the deck was so little that before you had time to warm up waiting for him, he had climbed up onto the ship himself and clasped the cuffs around your wrists. He dragged you into the shadow and reached for the door to the crew's quarters, pulling it open and muttering about being cold quickly under his breath to himself. Although you didn't catch much of what he said, it was clear to you that he was implying he needed to change.

He stopped talking to himself and pushed you through the entryway, prodding you along with his flintlock in your back, although it didn't mean much else but an empty threat. No sunlight passed through the doorway, and the darkness of the ship felt more enclosing than ever, dank and cold. You shuffled down the quarters, into the stairwell and onto the gun deck. It was silent inside the ship. The only sound came from the irregular beats from the knives and tools against the wood of the hull outside, from the tapping and shuffling of your boots and his, and the soft creak of the wood beneath your feet.

You descended the next stairwell into the lower hold, the flintlock in your back not missing a step. It was even darker, the only light coming from the dim oil lamp near the galley. You expected him to push you inside the door and lock you in, commanding you to make breakfast, but instead he steered you toward the brig at the fore of the ship, his elongated gait picking up the pace as he grew impatient. The light faded as you traveled farther and farther into the hold, the maze of crates and barrels and spare sails towered above you, and piles of ropes and sacks tripped you as you walked.

Finally you reached the very fore of the brig, the wood curving upward, the walls damp and covered in mold and filth. On the port side of the brig were three cells, the iron bars rusting and black with mold. One of the cells had chains about halfway up the wall, a rotting wooden bench beneath them; this was the cell he pushed you in. You struggled, grabbing either side of the doorway and refusing to be pushed through or to let go.

"You came this far willingly and then put up a fight at the very end?" He kicked the back of your knee, making you collapse; however, you still tried to hold on to the bars. He groaned, frustrated with your sudden stubbornness. He put away his flintlock and instead pulled out a small dagger that he pressed upon your lower back, the sharp tip digging in slightly and drawing blood. The struggle was over––he had a useable weapon and you had nothing. You let go of the bars and shuffled inside, feeling a slight pressure on your back as the blade threateningly brushed your shirt yet again.

He followed you inside and motioned to the bench. Reluctantly, you faced him and sat down, feeling the damp wood expand and sink under your weight, the splintering wood cracking and groaning. He grabbed your wrists and chained them up and put away the dagger. The chains were short enough that you could no longer reach him nor walk away from the bench, but they were long enough that you could at least rest your hands on the bench.

"I should've put you here in the first place. I've grown too lenient with you. You will continue to make our meals, but this is where you will spend the rest of your time. Oh..." He reached in your pocket and pulled out the medallions you had taken earlier, "Don't think I didn't notice this." You grimaced, the corner of your mouth twitching. He stared you down, pocketing the coins before checking the other pocket, "Let's see what other things you might have taken from me..." There were three more coins in the other pocket, and then he spotted the edge of the gunpowder bag sticking out of your shirt. He pulled it out and opened it, and upon finding absolutely no gunpowder left, he slapped you across the face, "So now you've lost me a bag of gunpowder. You're worthless, you've lost me more than I've gained from you."

You kept your mouth shut as he turned around and slammed the door behind him, locking the cell and promptly leaving the brig, disappearing through the doorway.

Alone in your cell, time seemed to slow. You supposed you could get some well deserved sleep, after having the spent the entire night awake, but it was so musty that when the air invaded your lungs you went into a coughing fit. You were uncomfortable sitting up for sleeping, and your cheek still stung. Your eyes said sleep, but the rest of your body said no.

Left staying awake, minutes felt like hours, and an hour felt like a day. And after what felt like two days, the hull began to creak, the keel groaning as it scraped across the sand. It seemed that the _Santa Rita_ was setting sail yet again.

**Yes, although it sounds Spanish, there is a reason behind why Arthur's ship is called _Santa Rita_. I will be highly impressed if you can tell me why it's called that. Also, I'd like to point out that during this time, any beverage was better than drinking water due to awful conditions, and so no matter what age you were, you would most likely drink some sort of alcoholic drink, which is why when heavy liquor like vodka came out, there were so many drunks because they drank the same amount that they would a normal alcoholic drink like beer; so for those of you who are assuming Alfred and Matthew are too young (though I haven't given you their ages) to be drinking alcohol or think it wouldn't fit with their character all that well, this is the reasoning. Thanks so much for reading!**


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